Foretellers (The Ydron Saga Book 3) (15 page)

Harad studied the arriving forces and found they were fewer than he had hoped for.

“How many?” he asked Ullow.

Frowning, his face strained from lack of sleep, Ullow replied, “Just over three hundred.”

“I would have preferred more,” said Harad.

Ullow faced him and said, “If we can get inside… ” He paused. “And
if
you are right about Maior and Jath,” he said, still looking unconvinced, “they will be more than enough to carry the fight inside the walls. In fact, if I had brought too many, they would be falling all over themselves once they were inside.” He glared at Harad. “Just get us in,” he said and it sounded like a threat.

When they arrived, they found a fog filled the meadow that encircled the fortress, dense enough to conceal their approach. So thick was the blanket, were it not for torches along the fortress walls—fuzzy blobs of light barely visible through the gloom—they might have stumbled into the battlements unawares. The commotion of so many troops colliding would surely have alerted the watch and the fog became at once both a boon and an unexpected challenge.

“I’m afraid our assault will have to wait until all this dissipates,” said Major Ullow, disappointment registering in his voice. “If I can’t see what we’re attacking, I can’t coordinate our efforts.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Harad replied. “There are only two guards at the main gate. Both are young and inexperienced. The rest of the watch are preoccupied. After hours spent staring into emptiness, they’ve either fallen into conversation, or else have become lost in thought. If we can persuade the gatekeepers to admit two messengers—Rodic and I would be perfect candidates—we can disable them both and seize the gate.”

“Assuming they fall for your ruse, how will I know you’ve succeeded?”

“I’ll signal with a torch. I can make sure to do it when neither one is looking. If you’re attentive, the signal can be brief.” When the major hesitated, Harad said, “I will remind you, I do have the advantage.”

The major agreed, but sent half a dozen archers armed with long bows to accompany them. When Rodic and Harad had drawn to within one hundred feet, Harad motioned the archers to hold back while he and Rodic approached the guards, for all intents alone. To enhance their charade, Ullow had dressed them in helmets and capes that bore his colors and insignia, hoping the poor visibility would aid their disguise.

“Unless the powers within have changed without notice, they should grant you entry.”

Since the River Em protected Monhedeth from an attack from the south, and No’eth’s difficult, almost impassable terrain rendered an invasion from the east equally unlikely, the castle lacked a moat and the approach to the gate was a straightforward affair. When they arrived, they were greeted with the anticipated challenge.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Even though they had paused fewer than twenty feet from the guards, the watchers remained two murky silhouettes and Harad suspected he and Rodic were no more distinct, their approach made apparent by the torch in his hand.

“Messengers from Major Ullow,” replied Rodic.

“You may approach,” said a gatekeeper. Then, when they were standing almost at arm’s length and could make out each others’ faces, the guard asked, “What is your message?”

Before Rodic could reply, Harad asked, “Who is in charge of the keep?”

“For the moment, a council of lords holds sway,” the other one replied.

“We wish to inform them Major Ullow offers his allegiance.”

It was not what the major had instructed them to say and Rodic shot a look.

“Would you allow us inside, so we can convey his words in person?” he continued.

“Return at first light, and we will see what the council members say.”

Unwilling to give up easily, Harad probed the gatekeeper’s mind for what might persuade him to relent, then added, “Generals Maior and Jath are organizing an attack against barakMis. This is more than I am authorized to disclose, but if we wait until dawn, the attack will be too imminent to prevent.”

The guard appeared uncertain and motioned for his counterpart to approach. The two conferred briefly, then examined Harad and Rodic for weapons. When they had confirmed that the two were unarmed, the first one nodded and uncovered his lantern.

“You may pass,” he said.

Holding the lamp aloft, he waved it in an arc and eyed the battlements. When no one responded to his signal, he repeated it.

Harad froze as panic filled him. If Ullow were to mistake the guard’s lantern for the signal he had promised and move before the gate opened, it could all end here and now. He glanced back, dreading Ullow’s soldiers would appear.

Fortunately, his worries were groundless, although a few more seconds would have proven otherwise. Before the guard could signal a third time, the gate began to creak and started to slide upwards. Harad was watching it disappear when hisses and thuds returned him to the moment. Returning his eyes to the entryway, he saw the gatekeepers grasping the arrows embedded in their chests as wraith-like silhouettes began to emerge from the mist. Six to eight abreast, soldiers wielding halberds and battle axes were marching towards the gateway.

“We’re in!” Rodic gloated.

His delight left him giddy and immobile, so Harad seized him by the elbow and tugged him aside as soldiers with spears and long swords joined the attack.

Ignoring Rodic’s jubilation, Harad strode through the gateway and into barakMis. Oblivious to its frescoes and tapestries or to its statuary and lustrous marble hallways, he focused instead on the corpses and the fallen half-dead. To his delight, those bearing Ullow’s colors or those of his allies were almost non-existent. Instead, it was by the unfamiliar hues of the ones littering the hallways, pooling their life’s blood across the floors of those chambers he was able to peer into, that he measured the invading party’s success. By the time he was standing inside the Great Hall, the sounds of battle were fading as Ullow’s forces delved ever farther inside, felling the few who were awake at this predawn hour and slaughtering the ones still sleeping in their beds. Those who did wake to the cries of the dying would have had little time to arm themselves, so Ullow’s forces proceeded against scant resistance.

Only now did Harad let his eyes rove to the sculpted depictions of Monhedeth’s departed potentate, and he spent several minutes deciding which ones to demolish and which he would fit with his own likeness. He regarded the dais and the throne perched upon it, towering high inside this vault where Orr would have conducted his audiences, and pictured himself sitting there. He realized that, for the first time he could remember, he was happy.

“It remains to be seen whether Maior and Jath will mount an offensive,” a voice behind him announced.

Harad whirled and saw it was Ullow who had spoken.

“Even so, I am glad you suggested I attack when I did and I may still be inclined to reward you for urging me to take the initiative.”

Ullow paused to admire the space around them. Harad, not bothering to examine his inner machinations, suspected the major was making the same calculations he had just performed.

“I can hardly make out the sounds of the fighting. Do you suppose that it’s over?” the major asked.

Harad suspected, in this land where war was still unknown, that Ullow had never killed a man, nor had most of his troops. For that matter, neither had the ones they were slaughtering. Consequently, Harad was unconcerned how the major would react when he unsheathed his sword and placed the tip against Ullow’s abdomen, just below where his breastplate ended. When he did, the major stared at the small patch of red spreading onto his jerkin.

“What are you doing?” Ullow demanded as he attempted to step back and unsheathe his blade.

When he did, Harad struck it away with a flick of his own. It clattered to the floor and he returned his sword to its previous location.

“What does it look like?” asked Harad, holding the blade steady.

“Curse you!” Ullow cried, grimacing in pain, looking for a place to retreat and finding none.

As he attempted to back away, Harad matched his retreat, eventually backing him into the base of one of Orr’s marble likenesses. As the major collided, the blade moved deeper and Ullow’s hands went to either side of the sword’s penetration. Eyes wide, he looked from the wound to Harad, who made no attempt to suppress his delight over Ullow’s discomfort.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not yet. First, I want to tell you what a complete ass you are, throwing in with that idiot, Antel, with no plan how to take what I have given you.”

“Given me?” Ullow said, looking down at the blood that was now flowing onto his thighs.

“Tell me,” said Harad. “If I had not given this brief demonstration of my contempt, what would you have done next?”

As the major looked up, Harad could see him sort frantically through his thoughts.

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really sure.”

“You make my case,” said Harad and impaled him.

Ullow gaped in astonishment as Harad gave a twist. The major’s legs gave way and he crumpled.

“By the gods!” cried Rodic, who was just now entering the hall. “What have you done?”

“I think what I’ve done is obvious. Will you please help me dispose of the body?” When Rodic stood frozen, Harad added, “It will be easier to explain it to his troops if they don’t find him lying at my feet.”

“But the blood… ”

“There’s blood everywhere!” Harad snapped. “After I clean my blade and insert an enemy’s into the wound, they will have no choice but to accept my word when I relate how he bestowed his authority to me the moment before he passed on.”

When Rodic remained silent, Harad added, “I did ride beside him at the column’s head, did I not?”

Rodic nodded.

“There you have it.”

The chiming of bells broke the silence as churches summoned the citizenry to attend morning services. In the pre-dawn fog forming around danBrad’s outdoor market, shopkeepers started tearing down canvases that had protected their stalls and the goods within from the previous night’s downpour. Dogs that had guarded the merchandise were fed, then locked inside kennels behind each establishment as carts began arriving with goods to replace whatever inventory had been sold that week. Merchants’ children, wrapped in blankets against the damp and cold, ran to greet the new arrivals, hoping to direct their shipments to their parents’ stall first.

Amid this commotion, skeptical about the news he had been given, but eager to verify, Harad arrived amid a coterie of bodyguards. It was hours before the market would open to the public, but none here dared challenge Monhedeth’s new lord. In the weeks since he had taken command, the palace tailors had begun fashioning a wardrobe suitable to his office, so none here mistook him for a commoner.

As he passed the food sellers’ stalls, he shoved a baker aside, upsetting a tray of freshly baked bread, strewing the still steaming loaves across the muddy ground. Whatever outrage the baker might have felt, he dared not express it. Instead, he bit his knuckles and glared as the procession moved past.

Legs of lamb and sides of beef in the butchers’ stalls held no fascination this morning. Neither did the displays of fresh fruit and vegetables. Beyond the row where the weavers sold their bolts of brightly colored cloth, Harad found the object of his search: a banner above the blacksmith’s emblazoned with two rams butting heads on a blood red field.

“May I help you, M’Lord?” asked the smith as Harad separated himself from his entourage and entered.

This was a large booth, the size of four or five others he had passed. Harad studied the items on display and found the merchandise more varied than he had expected. There were household items ranging from pots and pans to candle holders and serving trays. In another part of the enclosure were miscellaneous lightweight goods such as canisters and hoods for metal lanterns. Next, he saw a large selection of farm equipment, such as horseshoes, spades and pitchforks.

Not seeing what he had come for, he examined the blacksmith’s mind. Much to his dismay, the smith was so flustered by his arrival his thoughts were an unintelligible jumble, so Harad broached a conversation instead, beginning gently.

“Are these for sale?” he asked in an amicable tone.

The blacksmith glanced from the crest Harad wore to the soldiers waiting outside. He cast his eyes downward, so as not to presume to look directly his at master.

“These are for display, M’Lord,” said the smith. “If you see something that suits you, I can make as many as you like.”

Harad pursed his lips, but did not reply at once. After a moment, he ventured, “You seem quite accomplished.”

“I do what I can to survive,” said the smith.

Harad strolled past the area full of ploughshares and metal tires for wooden wagon wheels.

“I would think that the locals would know enough about your work, such a display would be unnecessary.”

“True enough, M’Lord,” the smith said, wringing his hands in obvious discomfort. “But we’re far enough north that traders from Rutan have begun passing through these past six or seven years on a regular basis.”

The mention of that land to Monhedeth’s north caught Harad’s attention. It was part of the news that had brought him here.

“Their forges produce superior armor and weapons, but they don’t much bother with common stuff such as this.” He indicated his wares with a sweep of his right hand, before he clasped his left once again. “They used to just buy, but now that so many of our lands have gone to war, we’ve started trading,” he concluded.

“Have you now?” asked Harad. When the smith nodded, Harad said, “And who is it that buys armor and weaponry?”

“Some of the officers in your army have taken a fancy. A few profiteers have also paid a visit.”

Harad’s brows went up.

“Indeed?”

The smith nodded mutely and Harad noticed the man was beginning to sweat. He looked around, but saw nothing of the sort and wondered if all the armor and weaponry had been sold.

“Will you be getting more of their goods any time soon?”

All at once, the smith transformed. As if suddenly awash with authority, he straightened and snapped his fingers. In response, a youth emerged as if by magic from the shadows and showed the same deference to his employer that the smith had shown Harad.

“Shine a light on yesterday’s shipment for the Lord of Monhedeth,” the blacksmith ordered. When the youth only nodded, but failed to act, the blacksmith raised his voice.

“Are you deaf?”

The youth shook his head and straightened. Startled into coherence, he hurried to a table, removed the globe from the lantern and struck an iron disk against a spark stone near the lamp’s mantle. Half a dozen strikes caused the mantle to glow, then develop a flame. The youth replaced the glass. Raising the lantern overhead, he walked to a remote corner of the stall. As the boy approached, Harad saw metal glint, then gradually transform into an array of shining breast plates, helms, gauntlets and greaves. Hanging behind this armor on the stall’s farthest wall were the items that had transported Harad from the warmth of his bed to the damp outdoor market.

He stared transfixed. Even at this distance, he knew he had never seen comparable craftsmanship. As if in a hypnotic trance, he was drawn to them. Had there been an obstacle in his path, perhaps a table or a stool, he would have certainly stumbled over it and fallen, so obsessed was he with the weapons on display.

Standing before them, he stretched out a hand, asking himself if such wonders could possibly be real. His fingers felt the pommel of what was surely the finest sword in all the continent, if not the entire world, but he dared not trace the engravings along the blade for fear of marring its polish. Turning toward the blacksmith—fingers still on the hilt—Harad asked, “When were you planning to tell me about this?”

The blacksmith’s mouth fell open.

“M’Lord?”

“Didn’t you think I would be interested in such a weapon?”

The smith raised his eyes and said, “Until you arrived, I didn’t know for certain if we had a new monarch. Word had it we were to keep away from the palace.”

Harad examined the man’s thoughts and saw his words were genuine. Suffused with both fear and respect for his eventual master, whomever that man might be, the blacksmith had been biding his time until the new ruler’s identity was revealed. Satisfied with what he had learned, Harad reexamined the weapon. He removed it from the wall to test its heft and was immediately taken by the perfection of its balance.

Swinging the blade in a slow sweeping arc, he asked, “Is it as formidable as I have been told?”

The smith nodded and said, “No sword I know can stand against it.”

Harad held it up to the light and examined its edge.

“Rodic,” he called.

His friend emerged from the shadows.

“Come at me with your sword.”

Rodic took a few steps forward and unsheathed his blade. He held it out as if to use it, then hesitated.

“Come now,” said Harad. “Are you afraid I can’t defend myself?”

After another brief deliberation, Rodic advanced. A few feet away, he paused, then took two rapid swings. Reacting quickly, Harad parried each attack. When Rodic thrust at his chest, Harad diverted the blade and put the tip of his own to Rodic’s throat, grinning before releasing him.

Lowering his sword, he said, “Let’s take a look.”

Rodic presented his own and Harad appraised its condition. He smiled at the three deep gouges taken from its edge. Examining the Rutani sword, he confirmed it was unmarked.

“Impressive, wouldn’t you say?” Harad asked, laughing at Rodic’s dismay over the damage his blade had taken.

“If I were you, I should have it repaired at the first opportunity.”

Scowling, Rodic returned it to its sheath.

Turning to the blacksmith, Harad asked, “How did the maker achieve such an edge?”

“Although the armorer has been circumspect about the details of its manufacture, he did say he added carbon and nickel to the iron.”

“Carbon?” said Harad. “That sounds unlikely.”

“A few trips earlier, one of his apprentices said that he hammers out the metal and folds it back on itself several times over.”

“That also sounds suspect,” said Harad. “No matter. How many of these do you have?”

“Besides that one, M’Lord, the two that are hanging. I’m afraid they were all I could afford.”

“When will you order more?”

“The armorer who sold them will be back early next week. If I’ve managed to sell these, he promised he’d replace them.”

“I want you to have him come to the castle. Tell him I require it.”

“Yes, M’Lord.”

“Tell him I intend to make him rich.”

“Yes, M’Lord.”

Harad gave the smith a long piercing look and said, “On second thought, I have something else to attend to first. Although I sincerely want to see him, tell him to come to me three weeks hence.”

The blacksmith nodded vigorously.

“I understand, M’Lord. Really I do.”

“Excellent. Oh! And I’m taking this one with me,” Harad said, displaying the sword in his hand.

The blacksmith nodded, but his brow furrowed and his mouth tightened and Harad saw he was worried he would not be compensated.

When Harad turned to one of his soldiers telling him, “Captain, pay the man,” the blacksmith offered a tentative smile. Harad started to turn and walk away, but hesitated, then added, “But don’t be too generous.”